


A Lizard on a Window Pane

by Yeomanrand



Series: Thou art no thy lane [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A Study in Pink, Developing Relationship, Episode Tag, Gen, POV Male Character, POV Third Person, Past Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-18
Updated: 2011-10-18
Packaged: 2017-10-24 18:15:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/266428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yeomanrand/pseuds/Yeomanrand
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade wants John's statement about the doings at the college of further education.</p><p>Teaser: <i>"Off you go, Sherlock; I'll be with you in a few minutes. Or I could have Donovan take your statement, if you'd rather not wait."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lizard on a Window Pane

"Well, you're bright and early. Expected you'd be having a lie-in after the last couple of days."

Detective Inspector Lestrade, John Watson thought, sounded rougher than he had at the college, as though he perhaps hadn't slept; an impression reinforced by the dark shadows under his eyes, the fresh shirt still showing creases from having been folded in a bag. His office was much like the man himself; basically organized and tidy, but a bit rumpled around the edges.

"You did say you'd be pulling me in to get my statement today. I didn't want you sending a car," Sherlock answered, pulling off his gloves.

"I wouldn't have. You wouldn't have come."

The tiniest flicker of a smile from Sherlock. "No."

"But you are here now. Doctor Watson, have a seat." Lestrade gestured at the chairs in front of his desk; both John and Sherlock blinked at him before looking at each other. "You heard me. Off you go, Sherlock; I'll be with you in a few minutes. Or I could have Donovan take your statement, if you'd rather not wait."

John looked between the two men, shook his head slightly, and took a seat before Sherlock could say anything particularly cutting. Sherlock's lips tightened, the slide of his gaze from Lestrade to John to the door a near-imperceptible reflection of John's own nerves, but Sherlock left the small room without another word, going so far as to close the door behind him.

"You wouldn't really let her have a go at him?"

"No." Lestrade was watching after Sherlock with something like bemusement.

"No. Good." John knew how he felt, smoothed his hands along his trousers over his thighs. "Well done?"

Meaningless chatter, an attempt to look like he _didn't_ dread discovering the reason Lestrade had separated them. John could guess, and while Lestrade might on occasion be desperate and might need Sherlock — god help both of them — John had no illusions about his own necessity.

Lestrade settled behind his desk, carefully re-ordering a couple of folders so he had clearer line-of-sight to John. "It _is_ possible to catch him off-guard."

"Known him for five years, you said."

"Yes. And I've succeeded three — no, four — times. Don't really count the one, though, he was flying pretty high."

"Ah." John shifted in the institutional seat, still finding it difficult to picture Sherlock anything but sober. Manic, yes. He crossed his legs to make the movement look less like he was fidgeting. "So you'll be wanting my statement about yesterday, then?"

Lestrade tapped one finger on the handle of his coffee-mug. "The slug we dug out of the wall was from a handgun. Forty calibre; the lab guys say probably a Sig Sauer based on the rifling and the pin impression on the spent cartridge we found in the room opposite."

John leaned forward a bit. "Why are you telling me this, Detective Inspector?"

"Sig...that's what you army boys are assigned, yes? The L106A-1?"

"Most often," John agreed. "Sometimes L117A-2s, of course."

Lestrade nodded, dark eyes flicking up to the glass window behind John before his gaze settled back on John's face.

"Is he staring, or pacing?" John asked; two days in Sherlock's company and he'd already figured out his flatmate would be doing one or the other.

"Both." Lestrade steepled his fingers; John was reminded of Sherlock thinking, though he suspected the gesture was more about keeping Sherlock from reading Lestrade's lips. "Military arms might go astray, it's happened before — rarely, but it has happened. Based on a couple of other things Sherlock, ah, rambled incoherently about, I'm thinking the gun may have 'accidentally' come home with a soldier."

John nodded, lips pursed, and swallowed.

"So here's the thing, Doctor Watson: someone in this city has an illegal handgun that was used in a killing last night. If we were to uncover that weapon in a drugs bust, for example, we would have to at the very least impound the gun."

"Naturally?" He didn't mean it to come out a question; still, some of the rigid tension went out of his back. "Arrest the possessor as well, I would think."

Lestrade's jaw set. "Yes, precisely that. And ballistics would work to match the gun to open shootings in the city."

"I see."

"Do you?" For a moment, John thought Lestrade might push away from his desk and pace as well. He leaned back in the chair instead, folding his arms across his chest. Easy enough to see he was deeply unhappy with the conversation.

A silence fell in the office; John reflexively curled his steady left hand as though it were going to shake. Not quite sure he did see; the warning was clear enough, but there was a subtle undercurrent he couldn't quite figure out. He wondered if it was Lestrade's turn to warn him to stay away from Sherlock.

 _You're not haunted by the war, Dr. Watson. You miss it._

 _And I said 'dangerous,' and here you are._

Much too late for that.

Lestrade broke the quiet, speaking low. "He's rather taken to you. I've never seen him take to anyone, not really."

John sighed. "I flatter him. He told me most people tell him to piss off, but then if most of his revelations are of the sort he made about Donovan and Anderson I rather understand."

The noise Lestrade made wasn't quite a laugh. "Worse, sometimes, since I assume he was on about the affair we all ignore. ' _You're all so vacant_ ' is almost gentle, for him."

John tilted his head, trying to follow the odd track of the inspector's train of thought.

"But when _you_ asked him to clarify, he did, insults or no. Slowed himself down enough to explain so your 'funny little brain' could keep up." Lestrade folded his hands on top of his desk. "Normally, he's much more as he was at Lauriston. Somehow, in the past twenty-four hours, you made some kind of difference to the way he deals with us lesser mortals."

"I hope _you_ don't think we're dating," John said, amused bite in his voice, bringing his hand up to rub at the scar on his left shoulder; the renewed ache woken by an easing of tension.

This time, Lestrade laughed. "No. _God_ no. Who —?"

"Mrs. Hudson, Angelo, and I think Sherlock's brother." John gave Lestrade a little pained smile of his own. "Though he was trying to wind me up. So you can see —"

"Yes, I can." Lestrade sobered. "And you _do_ see."

"I do," John said. Sherlock had precious few human connections that mattered to him, and allowing him to maintain them was enough reason for Lestrade to turn a blind eye to a bit of vigilante justice, however defensible it might ultimately be in court. "I appreciate your concern, Detective Inspector."

"See that you keep it in mind, then. I'll have Donovan take your statement while I deal with him."

John managed not to groan. It was a near thing.

\------

Shortly after midnight, John made his way downstairs carrying a small kit. He half expected to find Sherlock bent over his experiment in the kitchen, checking the dehydration of the eyeballs, or staring out the window on Baker Street, thinking. Instead, Sherlock was curled on his side on the couch, huddled in his pyjamas beneath a thin satin bathrobe, snoring just loud enough for John to hear.

John stopped in the doorway, shook his head, and considered throwing a blanket over Sherlock before deciding the touch was more likely to wake him than the small noises of John moving around.

He needed to get a better light for his bedroom; he could tear down, clean, and reassemble the Sig Sauer in the dark — and he had — but he wanted to do a bit of detail work. He'd hoped to use the light on the worktable, make some small changes to the barrel, make the ballistic evidence less likely to provide a viable match. Would have, if Sherlock had been awake.

But he wasn't, and there'd be time for that tomorrow. Instead, John settled into the chair facing Sherlock, index finger crossing his lips. Just for a little while.

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by [Shinychimera](http://archiveofourown.org/users/shinychimera). All other errors and Americanisms my own. Concrit welcome.
> 
>  ~~I swear this was a prompt on sherlockbbc_fic but I can't find it now.~~ It [is a prompt over there. Sheesh.](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/575.html?thread=155199#t155199)


End file.
